


Mortal Kombat: Blood Ties

by SpinoGuy



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types, Mortal Kombat - Fandom
Genre: Action, Angst, Gen, Humor, No Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinoGuy/pseuds/SpinoGuy
Summary: We all have ties to our past.  But when those ties are severed by forces outside our control, what are we to do?  When Kenshi Takahashi's ties were severed, and his eyesight stolen, he set out to avenge that loss.  For decades, he has done exactly that.  Hunting.  Searching.  But he crosses paths with another whose ties have been cut, but unlike Kenshi's, her entire past has been stolen from her, leaving her with no memory.  Together, he and Kitana fight to avenge his loss and regain her memories.  But when things in their past aren't quite as gone or forgotten as they originally thought, how will they react?  Will they push on through?  Or just fall down in to that pit that we call despair?
Relationships: Takahashi Kenshi & Kitana
Kudos: 3





	1. The Past I

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cross-post from FFN. There are three chapters already up over there, so go check those out, and hopefully there will be more coming to you very soon. Until then, I hope you enjoy.

_The past._

_Takahashi Family Home._

Kenshi Takahashi was only fifteen years old when his entire life changed.

He remembered it vividly. The images seared into his mind.

He remembered he was in a field of wheat. His brother, Katsuo, was also there. They were practicing if he recalled correctly. His father was insistent that they practiced, even at a young age. Katsuo was the better pure swordsman, but Kenshi was always able to pull a dirty trick and gain the advantage.

Their father was always angry, and always punishing, but Kenshi never waivered from his approach to combat. His father always said, "Kenshi. There can never be true victory in the absence of honor."

Kenshi always replied, "But what's the point of honor, if you can't live to appreciate it?"

He would always be slapped, but his stance remained the same. That was the difference between honor and victory. And he would rather be victorious.

Kenshi blocked the wooden blade from Katsuo, countering with a thrust attack of his own. His brother back stepped, just coming a hair's length from coming into contact. Kenshi parried a few blows from his brother, attempting to gain some distance.

No matter how hard he tried, in this bout or their next, he simply wasn't as good with the blade as Katsuo. So, inevitably it seemed, Katsuo gained the advantage, catching every attack thrown at him and matched it perfectly. Kenshi went for one last maneuver, feigning a lunge attack, instead crouching to the ground and slashing at Katsuo's feet.

It was for not, as he simply jumped in the air and landed on Kenshi's chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. His sword was thrown from his grip, landing some yards away. A harsh cough erupted from his mouth, before being silenced by the sword at his throat.

Through heavy breaths, Katsuo stated, "I win, nīsan."

Without a word in reply or a moment of hesitation, Kenshi threw a handful of grass and dirt at Katsuo's eyes. The older brother was blinded just long enough for Kenshi to throw him off his chest. He quickly clamored over to Katsuo's felled body, throwing a punch across his nose.

He was about to throw another when he felt a hand grasp his wrist. He was ripped from Katsuo, with a solid knee being sent into his gut for his troubles. He curled into the fettle position, grasping his bruised insides.

"Kenshi. You lost. There was no need to attack Katsuo," his father reprimanded.

Kenshi wiped some spit from his mouth, sniffling. "But there was an opening!" he cried, pointing towards Katsuo. "What kind of a fighter would I be if I didn't press the advantage?!"

"One with honor, Kenshi." His father pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Katsuo!" The youngest child stood at attention. "Is the point of this training to win?"

"No, sir," Katsuo replied without missing a beat.

"Then what is it?"

"To teach us humility in defeat, and honor in victory, sir."

"Very good," their father replied. "Kenshi, if this was a real fight, then you would be right to use any advantage you find. But that's not what these sessions are about."

"But why should I lose if I can win?" Kenshi asked, sitting up from his prone position. "Victory is all that should matter."

His father simply shook his head. "That competitive streak will be your death, Kenshi. Even without thinking from an honorable standpoint, sometimes you'll win the war by surrendering the battle."

Kenshi didn't press the issue anymore. His father simply left Kenshi and Katsuo to their training. They all went the same. Kenshi would always lose, never gaining a real advantage over Katsuo. He would be felled in decisive manner, a sword at his throat. Katsuo was ever the sport about it.

During one of their lulls, Kenshi was bandaging a cut across his arm when Katsuo asked a question.

"Why don't you like father, nīsan?"

He couldn't help but scoff. "Who said I didn't like him?"

"It's just that, well, you always argue with him."

Kenshi glanced at Katsuo. The youngest was only eleven at the time, and always gave off the impression of naive worship of their father. When father said jump, he jumped. When father said fight, he fought. Never once was a question asked, and never once was an order disobeyed.

It couldn't be denied that Katsuo was superior to Kenshi at the moment, but he couldn't help but feel that he was being looked up to. He hated that. He hated that he was the one to be looked up to. He hated that Katsuo was looking to him for what to do when father wasn't here.

"We argue because he's not always right," Kenshi replied, ripping the line of bandage from the roll with his teeth.

"But he's our father," Katsuo replied, looking like someone slapped him in the face with something that he could never have before considered. That was his problem, Kenshi decided. He hadn't grown past father yet.

Maybe Kenshi's problem was that he grew past father too quickly.

"I guess he is," Kenshi conceded.

"Boys! Time for dinner!"

Kenshi and Katsuo looked at each other, the hunger in their eyes changing from achieving victory to achieving the better meal. They quickly scrambled to their feet, pushing and shoving each other, and dashed towards their home.

Katsuo was the better brother with the sword, but Kenshi was faster on his feet. And it seemed father's lessons of honor stuck with Katsuo, as he not once attempted to throw something or try to trip up his younger twin. Kenshi wasn't even going to pretend that he would've done the same.

Once they got into the house, the weren't even two steps in before mother shouted at them, "Shoes!"

Kenshi rolled his eyes, quickly removing his footwear, followed closely by Katsuo doing the same.

They both stood in front of their mother, Elizabeth Warren-Takahashi. Unlike their father, who was a pureblooded Japanese man, her blond hair and blue eyes told their mother was from a more western area. They were never told any place specific, but they heard that she was from the United States when she and father were talking about visiting their grandparents.

That was a few weeks ago, and nothing else had been discussed about those plans, but it was fine with Kenshi. He was dreading the day he would have to leave the family house. Today, however, he wanted food.

"What are we having today, love?" Their father asked, coming in from his own training based on the line of sweat across his forehead. He placed a hand on her shoulder, which she scooped up with her own. It was the only physical display of affection Kenshi had ever seen his father partake in.

"I made some sushi with the fish you three caught last week," Elizabeth excitedly proclaimed, showing them the platter laid out on the table. "I've been slaving away all morning, so you'd better be happy, or no more sword training."

"Well, it's not just sword training, Elizabeth, there's other techniques—." He stopped when he saw his wife giving him a look that showed she was not amused. "Yes, well, I'll make sure to savor every bite."

Kenshi and Katuso tried to go for the same sushi piece. This resulted in them shouting at each other.

"I saw it first, Kenshi!"

"No you didn't, you knew I wanted that piece!"

"Children!"

They both coward at their father's voice. "Either decided who gets the piece, or no food for either of you."

The two boys glowered at each other before performing a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors. After two round of ties, rock and paper, Kenshi beat Katsuo by throwing scissors. Kenshi smiled gleefully as he took the piece of sushi.

A knock on the door alerted their father, who placed his chopsticks down. He placed a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, smiling. "I'll be back."

"Don't take too long," she replied through a mouthful of food.

As he left, the rest of the family ate in silence. Kenshi tried to swipe some food from Katsuo under their mother's nose, but his hand was quickly swatted away by the very attentive Elizabeth.

The sound of glass shattering broke the peaceful silence of the meal. Elizabeth shot to her feet, "Takeda?!" When no reply came, she knelt down to her sons. "Boys, I need you both to run and hide! I'll find you when I find your father, alright?"

Katsuo's voice came out as barely a whisper. "Mom?"

Kenshi was already on his feet and picking up his brother. "Come on, we have to go!"

"I love you both." Without another word, she ran towards the front door. "Takeda!"

That was the last time Kenshi saw his mother.


	2. The Hunt I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenshi has been fighting his war nonstop for as long as he can remember. The pain never ends. And the hunt is still on.

A scream echoed throughout the streets of Deacon City.

Gunshots rang out.

Sirens blared.

It was another day in Deacon.

A man stirred in a hotel room.

The same dream again, Kenshi thought.

He groaned and sat up on the bed. It was hard and stiff, but he couldn't ask for much else. He hardly had any money left, and the motel was the cheapest he could find in Deacon City. He reached out in front of him, the bruises and scars leaving his body a wreck.

His hand finally grasped the sword scabbard in front of him. He opened his eyes, but even then, he still could not see.

When Kenshi was a child, he was in an accident, taking his eyesight away. A horizontal scar from his right to left temple over his eyes was the most prominent feature on his face. Pale blue circles were the only indication of an iris and pupil, long since faded. If someone were to pay enough attention to his eyes, they would be puzzled to notice a slight glow to it. Blinded since childhood, he knew how to deal with the loss of his eyesight.

That was why he had the sword, _Sento_. When he gained hold of it, a pulse was sent out. A vague blue hue of any object in the room appeared to him. Kenshi scratched the thick stubble on his chin, before slowly getting to his feet. The pain from the night before took its tool on him, making movement hard.

 _Sento_ soon started working its magic, allowing Kenshi to "see" a more acurate outline of the room. Details were nonexistent to him, but he could move around now. And he immediately limped towards the mini-fridge. Opening the door and feeling the cool air brush against his shirtless body, he reached for a bottle. He gave it a quick sniff before putting it back and grabbing another. This one would do, he decided. He pupped open the bottle and took a few swigs.

The alcohol burned his throat, but it also dulled the pain the rest of his body was feeling. Placing the bottle back in the fridge, he felt his stomach. The bandages were dirty again. Kenshi peeled the cloth away, letting it fall to the ground. He limped towards the bathroom, only stopping briefly to steady himself against a dresser. He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to fight the headache he was quickly getting.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, it was times like these that Kenshi was happy that he couldn't see. The state of his body was probably not a sight one would wish to see. He applied some medical alcohol and new bandages on the wound. This was a daily occurrence at this point, he thought to himself. He stumbled out of the bedroom, grabbed a t-shirt, and slowly pulled it over his head.

The next step on his daily routine was to grab his jacket. As he walked over towards the coat rack, he grabbed the small pile of crumpled up bills. He had no idea what the denominations were, only that he took them off a mugger a few nights ago.

He needed cash, he decided.

Kenshi strapped _Sento_ on his left hip and threw on his black, triple-cut long coat. It fit snugly to his shoulders and arms, but as it went down it was able to hit the blade completely when at rest. He took the time to adjust the coat to make sure it was completely invisible. If his movement was slow enough, it would remain that way.

After getting ready, he stepped out of the door.

* * *

The day was cold, as usual. It always seemed cold in this city, Kenshi mused.

After giving the hotel front desk the money to pay for another room, he was quickly on his way. Food was at the top of his list, he decided, figuring that the day was going to be a long one. His body ached more than usual when it was going to be a hard day.

He needed to focus now, though. He was on the hunt, and he needed to find his prey.

Currently he was chasing down a man name Benjamin Gertz. He was a higher up at Midway Incorporated, a massive media conglomerate. According to some information Kenshi had picked up along the way, Midway had almost 50% of all the world's media in their grasp. Mergers and buyouts were the primary cause of this, although they weren't averse to crushing smaller businesses into the dirt and buying the remains.

Gertz was a nameless face among the rank and file, never once getting recognized on the street. He enjoyed walking to work, stopping at the Starbucks at the halfway point, ordering his insanely overcaffeinated mocha and then eyeballing the female runners that passed him by. He would even try chatting them up a few times. Whenever successful, he would tell them when he was off work, where and when to meet him, and then sleep with them.

He made sure his wife was kept in the dark, of course.

A true sleaze in every aspect of his life, he was primarily responsible for many of the more ruthless decisions among the company. Not officially, of course. Officially, he was assistant to some other meaningless position in the company, but his true power lay behind his façade.

Behind him was a powerful organization, one with its claws in many aspects of the world. A name so feared, few dared to even speak its name aloud. They always called it the Organization. A plain name to cover the horror of what they really were.

Gertz was about to round a corner. He was very much ahead of schedule, he noted to himself with a smile. He had gotten up before his alarm had went off, a pleasant surprise, and made sure to get out of bed without disturbing his wife too much. He failed, but he wove a tale of how he was going to head to work early to make sure his bosses were well taken care of, or some such nonsense.

She'd believed it. It was honestly what he loved about her so much. She was incredibly trusting, making his occasional late-night escapades that much easier to partake in. Speaking of, there was this cute brunette that he had caught a few glimpses of her the past few days. Maybe he'd see her again and stop to say hello. He just had to remember to keep the ring off this time, unlike the last girl. He never knew who would be okay with it.

He had stopped at the Starbucks. Gertz had a pleasant chat with the barista. His name was of a foreign variety, and he decided that he wouldn't even attempt to pronounce it. The barista was misinformed of a great many things, as people like him are, but he was a kind enough fellow that Gertz ended up having a pleasant time.

In the distance, a sight brought a smile to his face. The brunette. And being a good hour early, he figured he'd have more than enough time to—

He was suddenly and violently pulled into a nearby alley way. He would have screamed, but a hand shot forward and covered his mouth. The muffled cries were barely audible to the pedestrians on the street. He tried calling out for his brunette, but she just jogged past the alley, not once giving him a glance.

Gertz was being dragged deeper, he realized. Tears and snot started to pour out of his orifices. When he was far enough away from the alley opening, he was thrown against the wall, the hand over his mouth.

Kenshi had long ago scouted Gertz's route. He also knew the businessman had a habit of occasionally getting up early. It was never more than an hour, but Kenshi had made sure to get here before the sun had barely broken over the horizon.

All so he could be here.

"Benjamin Gertz," Kenshi announced. His voice was cold, hard, and slightly raspy from long periods of silence. If he could see, he would have noticed the surprise on the other's face at being recognized. "If you make a sound above a loud whisper, I will make sure you die screaming. Understood?"

Gertz, ever the coward, nodded his head up and down as fast as he could.

Kenshi carefully lowered his hand. "I have some questions for you."

"I-I can give you all the money you want!" he pleaded with a hushed tone. "Please, just don't kill me! I have a wife and two kids!"

"A wife that you cheat on at every opportunity, and two children who haven't seen their father on their own birthdays since they were born," Kenshi corrected. "Father of the year."

"How did you—Never mind, just take all the money!"

He quickly pulled out a wallet and held it out to Kenshi.

The blind man slapped it out of his hands.

"I'm not after money, Gertz."

"Then what do you—" He was cut off by a stiff punch to the gut.

Before he could double over in pain, Kenshi had caught him by the chin and kept him standing upright.

"The next time you speak," he warned, "it had better be important. I'm asking the questions. And you're going to answer them."

Reaching behind his back, Kenshi quickly pulled out _Sento_ and placed the tip on Gertz's right cheek.

"Lie, and I will start cutting. I'll know." Kenshi tilted his head. "Nod if you understand."

Still having a firm grip on his chin, he felt Gertz nod.

"Good. Where are you getting your orders from?"

"I have no idea what you're—Mmmff!" Kenshi had quickly squeezed Gertz's mouth shut and made a quick incision across his cheek.

"What did I say about lying?" the blind man repeated over the muffled cries. "The next one won't be a light cut."

The "light" laceration was pouring blood down his face and neck and ruining his suit. Gertz would have been furious if he wasn't terrified.

"I'm going to ask you one more time; Where do you get the orders from."

"I don't know his name!" Gertz cried after Kenshi let his speak. "All I know is that he drops an envelope at my home every time he needs something taken care of. I find it when I get home from work. He might not even give me orders today!"

Kenshi could detect no lie. Still, he tightened his grip on Gertz's face and placed the tip of his blade on the other cheek.

"You have to know something else, though, don't you? You're holding something back."

"I—" He was about to lie, he'll admit. But as soon as he felt the pressure increase on Kenshi's blade, he broke. "Alright, there's a house! The Belle Family house!"

"The condemned crack house?"

"That's the one," Gertz confirmed. "I've known some of the messengers to gather there! I've never been in person and it's all based on rumor, but that's all I have I swear!"

"One last thing," Kenshi stated.

"Oh, God, please no more," Gertz complained.

Kenshi said, "I need you to send them a message."

"W-what is it?"

"They'll know."

Kenshi took a step back and, with a quick slice, cut the man down. Gertz's eyes went wide as he slowly slid to the ground. Blood began to pour beneath the man as his head fell forward. He died, pathetic and a coward, scared for his life in an alley with a blind man.

Crouching before his new kill, Kenshi held out a hand. A slight blew glow came from his palm, listening as the man's body caught on to the fact that it was dying. Another member of the Organization was dead. It wouldn't go unnoticed, he figured. Before, all he took out were common street thugs doing the dirty work. Never a head man.

And now, they would come after him.

Kenshi patted him down, looking for something specific. All members had it, even a man like Gertz. He found Gertz's wallet, sure to have some money, and a phone. He kept both. Finally, he found it. Around the man's neck was a chain. At the end of that chain was a pendant. To any normal person it would look like nothing. Just a circle with a triangle on the inside. At the three points of the triangle, a circle was cut into the shape.

He felt it through his hands just to be sure. But it was real. One of the corners of his mouth tugged upward, the closest to a smile he got.

A Lin Kuei pendant.

His vengeance was at hand.

With a flick of his wrist, the excess blood was flung from his sword and it was neatly and carefully replaced in its scabbard. He readjusted his coat, making sure the blade was hidden, before he slowly made his way out of the alley. No one noticed the blind man. Just the way he preferred it.

Benjamin Gertz's body wouldn't be discovered for two days.


	3. The Hunt II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenshi follows up on a lead given to him about his prey.

##  _ Near the Belle Family Home. _

He’s moving through the street, but he’s not really there. His mind is a thousand miles away, focused entirely on the task at hand.

Expertly and gracefully dodging the busy Deacon City crowd has become second nature to Kenshi. He hears their footsteps, their heartbeats. Sometimes they quicken when they notice his lack of eyes and his completely flat expression. They think he can’t hear them as they whisper about the strange man. It’s happened less frequently the longer he’s been in the city, but the occasional comment will show up.

That’s one of the downsides of his conditions, aside from the whole “being blind” thing. Even without the Sento, his other four senses had skyrocketed to pick up the slack of his lack of vision. He could smell the hot dog vendor two blocks away, he could literally taste how filthy the city was, he could feel the temperature change in the most minute detail. And he could hear all the people screaming in the city.

Deacon was not a pleasant place. But the average person doesn’t really appreciate it as Kenshi does. Robbery, assault, murder, rape, he could hear a lot of it.

It took a long time to be able to tune it out effectively enough. Every now and again it would slip through the cracks, a flash of guilt or need coursing through him. His hand would always instinctively go for his sword, and he would always stop himself.

He couldn’t let himself become distracted. Not anymore. He would quietly mourn, then move on. It was all he could do.

Kenshi reached into his pocket and fingered the pendant.  _ It’s been so long since they were taken from me _ , he thought to himself.

If what Gertz said was true, he would find the information he needed at the Belle house. It’s been condemned for years, and the police typically turn a blind eye to the illegal dealings that occur. If a cop were to investigate, ignoring the orders from the higher ups, it would end with one less cop on the force.

Kenshi learned this during his time in the DCPD, and it was something he wouldn’t forget. He knew of more than a few coworkers who disappeared when they answered a 911 call about the Belle place. Corruption was so deeply entrenched in the DCPD, his few friends on the force either quit or stayed silent, for fear of their lives or their families.

He joined the police to help him on his journey, figuring the information available to them would be useful. It turned out to be a ten-year waste of time. The chief of police, Gor Roh, was not kind to Kenshi, being an outsider to both Deacon and the United States. This was despite his being taught perfect English by his mother and his sparkling record on his performance. He never really followed police etiquette, doing what he thought was right within the confines of the rules.

He’d stopped a few instances of police brutality that he witnessed before being shoved with another flailing officer of the law who knew the difference between right and wrong. Despite their situation, they had hit it off, learning from each other and becoming close .

But now wasn’t the time to get sentimental. He was here for a purpose, and he needed answers.

Slowing down in front of the three-story plantation style house, Kenshi listened closely for any signs of life. He could hear four men on the top floor, talking amongst each other. He couldn’t quite figure out what they were planning. He did hear one of them say, “With what happened to Gertz, we really can’t afford to be taking chances.”

Kenshi gave a small snort in amusement. Word travels fast it seems.

Two more were lounging on the first floor, watching television. Aside from the drunken laughter, he wasn’t getting anything useful out of them. On the second floor, he heard one man mumbling to himself. No idea about what, but a mention of a “sorcerer” popped up.

Striking soon would be the best option, he decided. None of the men were expecting an attack since their heartbeats were slow and calm. At most, the men on the top floor were stressed about arguing with each other, but that was easy to take advantage of. The two drunkards downstairs would be simple enough, and it’s possible the man on the second floor wouldn’t even notice.

Making the decision, he quickly pivoted, traveling up the walkway to the door. Another benefit of his abilities gifted to him by the  _ Sento _ was being able to “see” someone’s soul. Basically, the average person would give off a sort of blue-ish hue. Various shades of blue would represent different emotions. The lighter the blue, the happier someone is. The darker blues, however, would represent how angry or sad someone is.

When he saw black, however, that represented someone who was truly evil. It wasn’t often that he saw this color. In fact, he’s only seen it three times in his life. But this house, especially the person on the second floor, was very close to that color. It wasn’t quite there, but it was nonetheless unnerving. Kenshi got to the door and gave it a few hard knocks. He heard as the men upstairs immediately halted their conversations, while one of the drunkards got to his feet, stumbling over himself to get to the door.

“W-Who’s there?” he asked.

“Special delivery,” Kenshi said, already preparing himself.

The four above them were already starting to make their way down. One of them shouted, “Just a sec, let me grab my wallet!” He then immediately followed up with a sharp command. “Don’t open the door, you idiot!”

Kenshi grimaced. So much for that approach.

“W-hu…?”

“No one ordered a goddamn thing,” the man replied in a whisper, presumably their leader. He smacked the drunkards across the head. “Someone’s here. Probably the same guy who offed Gertz. Everyone, hide. We’ll surprise the bastard.”

A smirk played across Kenshi’s lips. Sure you will, he thought.

Just as the goons were getting into position, the leader grabbed the drunkard. “Not you. If you’re not here, it would look suspicious.” He reached for his gun. “Found it!” he called back. The door started to open.

Suddenly, Kenshi grabbed the door handle and flung it wide open. The leader of the group was caught off guard, not reacting soon enough to fire off a bullet. Kenshi grabbed the gun hand and slammed it into the leader’s face, breaking his nose. He stumbled back, falling on the ground.

Before he did, Kenshi quickly dived into the room, sending a sharp kick into the first drunkard’s knee. A loud crack filled the room, before it was followed up with an open palmed blow to the chest. The drunkard stumbled back, allowing the blind man to quickly move past him.

At this point, the other thugs had regained their wits and started to fire on him. Kenshi stayed low to the ground, making use of what little surroundings he had to work with. One of the bullets grazed his left shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and worked past the pain. He reached out, picked up a plate, and chucked it at one of the gunmen like a frisbee. It didn’t break the plate, but it gave him a nice bruise on his forehead, knocking him out cold. Kenshi ducked into the kitchen as bullets continued to fly, out of sight.

This has not gone as planned, he thought. It was meant to be a silent affair. Then again, what did he expect by just walking up here? The shots soon quieted, to his quiet relief. Gunshots did a number on his hearing, but they were incredibly easy to pinpoint at least. One of the thugs slowly made his way to the kitchen. Now was his chance, he decided.

Kenshi pulled his sword free from its scabbard, a blue glow coming forth from the blade. More than just giving him sight, the  _ Sento _ had another added bonus. Just as the thug rounded the corner, Kenshi sliced off his gun hand. Reaching deep within himself, he sent out of a wave of telekinetic energy from his hand, sending the thug flying back into a wall. He crashed through it, spilling into the outside.

Just as the rest were raising their guns, Kenshi used that same power to pull them from their hands. The weapons scattered across the floor, forcing the remaining group to pull out what they had left. Two of them pull out knives, but the last guy had to work with his bare hands. The knife wielders soon rushed Kenshi, slashing wildly, hoping to catch him off guard.

Instead, he easily evaded their attacks, dodging almost lazily before he had enough and slashed upward. It split one of the men in two vertically, making the other step back in fear. Kenshi gave him no quarter. He grabbed him with the power of  _ Sento,  _ telekinetically sending him crashing into the ceiling before slamming him face first on the ground.

Next, he did nothing. Kenshi just stood there and waited to see what the other man would do. He noticed that the leader had regained his wits, and started to get to his feet. He was holding his broken nose, aiming his gun at Kenshi. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Abruptly, he simply ripped the gun away with his power and caught it. He aimed it at the leader.

For a brief, tense moment, no one moved. Kenshi half expected one of them to do something stupid, but they didn’t. So, he let go of the gun and let it fall to the floor. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the Lin Kuei pendant.

“One of you two must know what this is,” he called out. “And I want to know more.”

The unarmed man was confused, but the leader’s heartbeat quickened. “What’s that?” he asked through a broken nose, so it came out all nasally and whiny, but with a surprising conviction to the role. Kenshi almost believed him.

He turned and faced the man. He said, “Gertz told me I would find a Lin Kuei informat here. And given that you are likely the leader of this ragtag group of misfits, I suspect that person to be you.”

“I-I have no clue who you’re talkin’ about,” the leader replied. “That name don’t mean nothin’.”

“You’re lying. I can tell.” Kenshi turned and started to walk towards him. “I’m going to give you three seconds before I break every bone in your body. You  _ will _ talk. It’s just a matter of if you want to walk ever again.”

The leader was nervous now. He was starting to sweat profusely. His eyes quickly glanced to the last man standing, who was slowly creeping towards the blind, before moving back. Before the other man could get any closer, Kenshi, in a smooth motion, spun around, slashing him across the chest with the  _ Sento _ and rushed towards the leader. The action took less than two seconds.

Kenshi grabbed the leader by the collar of his shirt and held the sword up to his neck. He let the silence sit for a moment before continuing. “This is your last warning.”

“Okay!” the leader shouted. “Alright, I’ll tell you everything! Just don’t kill me!”

“That is entirely up to you.”

“Alright, the Lin Kuei, they’re--”

A knife became embedded in the man’s forehead. It took Kenshi a moment to realize what just happened. The blade had just suddenly appeared. Then it hit him. The man on the second floor.

Kenshi let the leader’s corpse flop to the ground as he turned to face the man. His heart was pounding, still high on whatever drug he was taking, but there was something else about him. Now that he was face to face with the man, he could actually hear what he was saying.

“Must… protect… complete mission… last Takahashi… must protect… sorcerer…”

Kenshi’s eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

“Can’t fail, have to complete mission, sorcerer can’t know, must protect,” the man stammered. His breathing was ragged, and his heart wouldn’t slow down. “No one can know, last Takahashi--”

“How do you know that name?!” Kenshi demanded.

The drugged man wasted no more time. He pulled out two knives and darted towards Kenshi. Unlike the others, this wasn’t a random, desperate attack. There was a sort of sloppy grace to it, with speed that far surpassed the thugs in the home. Kenshi almost didn’t evade in time, and just barely brought his sword up to block the follow up attack.

Already at a disadvantage due to being against the wall, Kenshi was struggling to match the speed of the blows. His guard was broken through at a few points, and was rewarded with a shallow cut on his right bicep and left cheek on his face. Whatever mind-altering substances he was on, they weren’t having an effect on his abilities. 

The man attempted a stab at Kenshi’s head, but missed by a fraction. This allowed the blind man to quickly maneuver around his back. With his powers augmenting his strength, Kenshi gritted his teeth, lifted him up, and fell backwards. The drugged man made sure to keep his chin tucked, though, allowing most of the force of the fall to be focused on his upper back and shoulders.

Kenshi scrambled to his feet, raising his foot to stomp on the man’s head. He rolled out of the way, however, quickly jumping up and backing off. He lunged forward, his right hand attempting to plunge the knife into Kenshi’s heart, but the blind man kicked it out of his hands. He followed it up with his open palm striking the man’s sternum. He used a bit of his telekinetic abilities to aid in sending the man flying backwards across the room, but he skidded to a halt.

With the entirety of the room separating them now, a snarl escaped the drugged man’s lips. “Won’t let you! Can’t let you!”

Before Kenshi could even begin to ask a question, he was set upon by the man again. Instead of trying to counter, he simply jumped away to avoid the man’s wild knife attacks. The blind swordsman grabbed him with his mind and then threw him through a wall and into the kitchen.

This seemed to daze him for only a moment, as he quickly got back to his feet. This time it was Kenshi who was on top of him. Instead of just raining down strikes with his sword though, he focused on throwing whatever he could grab hold up. He threw an ashtray, a plastic cup, even a chair with his mind.

The man was caught off guard for a moment, but quickly recovered. He avoided the heavier objects and just brushed off the smaller ones, quickly setting upon Kenshi again. He made two horizontal slashes followed by a thrust. Kenshi was able to avoid the first slash and blocked the second, but he felt a sharp pain in his side. He ignored it, grabbing the man’s arm and pulled him closer.

Kenshi leveled his sword and plunged it into the man’s gut. His eyes went wide before looking down to see the blade in his side. Kenshi gave it a sharp twist before pulling it out with little regard. The man gave a small cough, spitting up some blood, and fell to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, Kenshi suddenly noticed that pain from before flair up. He reached down to his side and felt a knife in there. He grabbed the handle and pulled it out slowly. From what he could tell, it hadn’t hit any major arteries, but it would need almost immediate medical attention. Once it was out, he let it drop to the ground and applied as much pressure as he could to the wound. Well, he thought, that’s going to have to be a problem to deal with later.

For now, though, he knelt down to the drugged man’s level. His breathing had become labored, and Kenshi could smell the blood that was pouring out. But he wasn’t dead yet.

Kenshi grabbed his head and forced him to look him in the eyes. “You said the name ‘Takahashi’. How did you learn of it?”

When the drugged man said nothing, Kenshi added, “You’re bleeding out. You’ll die, and I can't stop it. But I can stop the pain. Please, help me.”

“The sorcerer…” the man mumbled. “He wanted the last Takahashi dead… Said something about a traitor…”

Some lucidity seemed to be returning, although he was still going on about a sorcerer. 

“Who is this sorcerer?” Kenshi asked.

“Said you’d be in Deacon… Said you would be coming for us…”

So they were on to him, Kenshi thought. This “sorcerer” couldn’t have only just discovered him, however. There had to have been eyes on him for quite some time now. The thought unnerved Kenshi, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.

“Why did the Lin Kuei kill the Takahashi family?” Kenshi finally asked. “What did Takeda Takahashi do to the clan?”

“Traitor…” the man mumbled before falling silent. 

Kenshi gave him a shake. “What does that mean? Tell me, what does that mean?!” When he got no response, he listened for a heartbeat. He wasn’t surprised to find none.

With great difficulty, he checked the man’s pockets. While there wasn’t anything in them, he did find a back slung onto his back. He used his sword to cut the strap and ripped it from the man’s body and slowly got to his feet. Among the broken bodies and furniture, he was the only one standing. A couple of the thugs still lived, albeit heavily injured.

Kenshi stumbled out the door, clutching his side. Now, he needed to get himself patched up. A hospital was completely out of the question, of course, but where else could he go?

Someone lived close by, he realized. He was close enough to their apartment that he might be able to make it in time. He groaned, and not entirely because of the stab wound. If there was anyone he was not looking forward to meeting again, it was them. It’s been a few years, and Kenshi's departure wasn’t the most… gracious.

But he was bleeding out, and he couldn’t go to a medical facility. It was worth a shot at least.

And so, Kenshi began to walk. He didn’t even bother to hide his sword.

##  _ On the Rooftops. _

The woman brought the binoculars down from her eyes.

She had just witnessed a slaughter. Those crackheads and dealers barely stood a chance. The one drugged guy seemed to be doing pretty well, but it was for nothing. She had to blink a few times and even rub her eyes to make sure she was seeing correctly.

Having spent the past few weeks observing the Belle house, she knew all the comings and goings, and never once did she suspect some vigilante to clean house. But he wasn’t just a vigilante, was he?

Using a hidden microphone that she planted a week ago during a day undercover as an escort, she learned that the attack was planned. He was looking for something, something personal. But what? The name “Takahashi” elicited quite the reaction from him. She felt as though she should know that name, like it was tickling the back of her mind.

But like most things, whenever she went to grab the thought, it would quickly evaporate. Instead of dwelling on it though, she quickly packed away her equipment. This man knew something about this “Lin Kuei”. And she wanted to find out.

“‘Takahashi’, huh?” she said to herself. “Interesting.”


	4. The Princess's Memories

##  _ The Princess’s Memories. _

Her name is Kitana.

At least, that’s what she thinks her name is. Truth be told, she can’t remember much of her life before that year. She woke up on a bench in a park one night, the only thing on her person was a backpack that held some books and two blades that folded out into fans.

She woke up confused, uncertain of who she was or what she was doing here. When she went through the pack, she found one of the books with the word “Kitana” on it. So that’s what she called herself. When she flipped through it, the first page had only four bold words. Words that sent a chill down her spine.

**YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED.**

The rest was almost completely alien to her. It looked like Chinese lettering, but it was just off enough to throw her for a loop. The fact that she even knew what Chinese looked like was surprising to her. She picked out a few words here and there, but nothing concrete. Nothing that even remotely told her what she was doing.

The four letters had caused her to spend the next few days in fear. Digging through the bag some more found a few hundred dollars, which put her in a hotel for a few nights. It wasn’t much, but she didn’t have to face the elements. She only had a few days however, and so she poured through the books to learn whatever she could.

Beyond the first one with the warning, however, there wasn’t much she could do with the rest. Still in the same pseudo-Chinese language. One word that she could decipher again and again was “Edenia”. It meant nothing to her, but perhaps it had before she lost her memory. The other words implied it could be a location, but when she went to a library to consult a world atlas, she couldn’t find anything. She couldn’t help but hiss out a curse that she didn’t remember learning.

It was about a week after that when she was first attacked. It was the middle of the night and she was back in the park, sitting on that bench and thinking. Sitting there had calmed her for some reason the past few weeks. Suddenly, three men clad in back descended on her.

At first she was scarred. They appeared from nowhere, faceless individuals out to get her. One of them grabbed her arm and said something in a language she couldn't understand. Perhaps a demand that she come with them.

The fear she felt now overpowered even the moment she woke up with no memory. She's still not sure if that fear is what unlocked something in her, or maybe it was just a reflex.

Either way, when the second man went to grab her, Kitana sent a sharp kick into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Before the man had even fallen to his knees, she fell to the ground on her back, placed her feet on the first man's chest and kicked him off. He fell a few feet away with a solid crunch.

Kitana quickly rushed the final man, scrambling on top of him so that she was sitting on his shoulders with her legs wrapped around his neck. She grabbed a handful of the cloth of his mask and started punching.

With every impact of her fist, feeling the tremors moving up and down her arm, she started to remember more of her skills. She looked up to see the man she kicked start to crawl to his feet. Kitana fell forward, rolling with the impact and flinging the attacker she held into the other.

Without hesitation, and having noticed the third man, the man who grabbed her, getting to his feet, she rushed towards him. The attacker had no time to react as Kitana slid between his legs, bolted to her feet, spun around, and sent her foot into his genitals. She's pretty sure she felt something pop.

The man fell to his knees, and Kitana finished him off with a roundhouse kick to the temple. She might have heard the neck crack, but she didn't bother to double-check.

She moved to her heap of the other two. They hadn't recovered completely before she stomped on one of their heads. She then knelt onto the final man's chest and ripped off his mask.

"Why are you after me? What have I done to you?" She demanded.

The man shot her a sneer. "Do not pretend ignorance, witch. You know exactly what you did."

"Do you honestly think I would've asked if I knew?" Kitana applied more pressure onto his sternum. "Who are you?"

"The Link Kuei will have its payment," the man spat out. "And we will collect in blood." He bit down something with his molars, producing a cracking noise. Before Kitana could ask anything else, the man began convulsing and foaming at the mouth. She stepped back in surprise as she watched the man breath his last.

After the adrenaline wore off, she began shaking. She looked down at her hands. How had she done any of that? How was she capable of it? Who was she before this? Looking around, fear in her eyes, the questions still swirling in her mind, she grabbed her belongings and quickly fled the scene.

She never did return to that park.

For the next few months, she roamed around Deacon City, still asking herself those same questions. However, a new one began to develop. One that she would begin following up on more frequently. Who were the Lin Kuei?

She did some research at the local library. Apparently they were some ancient Chinese clan composed of a bunch of warriors. Dates on them are a bit sketchy, but the formation happened sometime during the late 12th century or the early 13th. Based on secondhand reports, they were cruel and vicious, taking no prisoners. It’s said that their rivalry with another clan, based in Japan and named the Shirai Ryu, was legendary.

They disappeared after a few centuries, though, but there were rumors they had taken more of a backseat role in the world, still at large and controlling events from behind the scenes. She didn’t know whether to believe it, but she also didn’t have a whole lot of evidence to disprove it either.

Fast forward to the present. Kitana had found one of their dens, where they house their drug operations and a safe house for any field members that need to rest. A year of living in Deacon and hunting these bastards had queued her into the fact that men found her desirable. She was able to sneak in with her “charms”, plant a small microphone, and then leave before the men there were able to commit any vile acts on her.

And so, she spent the next few weeks on a rooftop nearby, listening into the house. For three weeks, nothing happened. But then, a man with a sword walks in and slaughters them all. He was hunting the Lin Kuei too. And he was good. For the most part.

It sounded like he had some troubles with the only actual member of the Lin Kuei there, and only won because the guy was drugged out of his mind, but the others he was able to dispatch with relative ease. He could be a useful partner.

If he made it alive to wherever he was going. Perhaps he could use her help. She quickly gathered up her supplies, slung her bag over her shoulder, and quickly followed him on the rooftops.

##  _ The Apartment. _

Kenshi pulled himself up from the ladder of the fire escape. It was a painful process, one that took every ounce of his strength. The knife wound in his side was only getting worse, and he was losing more and more blood. He rolled over onto his back and took a few deep breaths.

He had been able to get past the difficult part, and he just needed to go up some steps. His side was incredibly warm, he noted, but the rest of him was beginning to feel cold. That was sloppy and dangerous. He should’ve had a plan, but he just went in there and got nothing. The lead Gertz gave him went nowhere, other than knowing the Lin Kuei were after him. That was something he guessed.

Taking in another deep breath, he used the railing to get to his feet and began making his climb upwards. Each step was agony. It sent a fire ripping up and down his side. But he couldn’t stop, otherwise he would pass out and die. One foot at a time, he told himself.

Eventually, he reached the window he needed to go in. He leaned against the frame, taking a few deep breaths. He was becoming increasingly lightheaded, with only a few minutes left of consciousness. Drawing from within, he reached out through the window, and felt the latch for the window.

He twisted his face in concentration as he used his mind to slowly, but surely, twist the lock open. As soon as he felt it twist enough, he grabbed the window with his available hand and slid the window up. The process was arduous, but it opened enough for him to slide on through. It wasn’t a graceful entrance, as he crashed into a table. He grunted in pain and rolled onto his side.

The reaction was instantaneous.

From a hallway off to the side, a woman’s voice shouted, “Freeze! Don’t move or I will put you--!” The voice trailed off. Kenshi could feel her move closer to him. “Kenshi?”

“Sonya,” he said, reaching his hand out to Sonya Blade. “Please… help...”

Having used up the last of his strength, his hand fell to the ground, as the darkness took him over.


	5. The Past II

##  _ The Secrets of the Takahashi _

Kenshi and Katsuo kneeled next to their father, deep in prayer.

It was not often their father made them do such a thing, and never made Elizabeth partake, but this seemed special.

He mentioned it was the anniversary of something, and that they needed to pray to their ancestors. Kenshi never understood why, but he always enjoyed coming to the room, and he knew Katsuo felt the same way.

It was hidden behind some secret panel in their father’s room, requiring a few hoops to jump through. First, a code would need to be entered. The code was always the same, “1199”. The metal door slid open with a resounding thud. The two boys stepped back a bit. Their father only smiled warmly at them.

Behind the door was a stairway leading down into an underground room. It was too dark down there to see past the steps, but Kenshi couldn’t help but feel a shiver run up and down his spine every time they entered. Almost as if he didn’t belong. He wondered if Katsuo ever felt the same way.

They descended into the depths. Their father picked up a lantern, one that looked impossibly old. But every time, without fail, their father lit the torch and used it to light their way. When asked why they didn’t just use a flashlight or put in some lightbulbs, their father would say, “This sacred ground forbids all forms of modern technology. When praying, you must leave all earthly things behind.”

His father would then flash a grin. “It also helps the atmosphere of the place.”

At the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves at a crossroads. Father made sure they always turned right, as going left would spell death for all trespassers. Kenshi was always rather poor at following his father’s directions during training, especially when it came to fighting with honor, but he made sure to pay attention to when his father would flip hidden levers and buttons.

Katsuo, too, paid attention, although he was always distracted by just how old this place truly was. It was almost like an ancient underground labyrinth, with twists and turns every which direction. It was in stark contrast to their home, which had many of the modern additions that normal homes contained, like a t.v., phones, everything. They even got the Atari, something their mother had to work hard to convince their father.

Their mother always said that father was stuck in old ways when they met, refusing to have more than what was necessary, viewing it as a distraction. But Elizabeth slowly eroded that cold and stubborn exterior, to the point where she considered it a personal victory when they bought a television.

Father was still father though, so chores, homework, and training always needed to be completely done first before any form of fun was had. Elizabeth was more than okay with that caveat.

“Why doesn’t mother ever come with us?” Katsuo asked their father on this trip. “She must be lonely when we’re gone.”

“Actually, your mother relishes the chance to be away from you hellions,” their father said with a chuckle, ruffling Katsuo’s hair. “She doesn’t hold this place as closely to her heart as we do. Nor should she, as these are not her ancestors. And this ground does not take kindly to unwanted visitors.”

“Why wouldn’t mom be wanted?”

“This place is very picky, Katsuo. Now hush. We’re almost there.”

They arrive at a cave, no different from any other dead end. But this cave was occupied. On the far back of the wall hung a scroll with an elaborate drawing. It was of two men, one dressed in red and the other in blue. They both wielded swords. The red one carried a silver blade, with what looked like blue energy emitting from it. The man in blue had a black blade, dark energy coming from it. 

Behind them seemed to be a tumultuous ocean, with an ancient dragon hovering above both of them. It was a tale of two brothers, their father said, driven to anger and hatred over some lost form of power. The man in black struck down the dragon with the black blade, which angered the man in red. He took up the silver blade with a purpose to avenge the fallen dragon.

Eventually, their fight was too destructive for their land. The two brothers killed each other in the end. The black sword was lost in the struggle to the sands of time, while a wandering shaman stumbled upon the silver sword. Knowing of the blade, and of its opposite, he imbued it with the ability to strengthen the user’s soul. This power came at a price, although that is unknown.

Eventually, the sword was passed down throughout the generations, and it now resided in this cave underneath the painting. It was held in a black scabbard with a dark red cloth tied to the handle. The sword hadn’t been drawn since the battle with the brother, everyone fearing what the price truly was. And so, their father brought them every year to pray to the sword.

_ Sento. _

Their father told them that one day, they would be tasked with guarding the blade, as his father had done before and his father before him and so on and so forth. Katsuo was awestruck at the thought that he would be so important.

Kenshi, on the other hand, had a different thought. What happened to the other blade? For some odd reason, a shiver went up his spine. It was probably nothing, he decided. Just some wind.


End file.
